Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Daschund Rhapsody

I have recounted the tale of Chloe's great escape not that long ago, but as an update, this now necessitates her to have a guardian when we let her out lest she try another jailbreak. Thanks to Daylight Savings Time, of course, it's dark at noon, so this requires that whoever goes out with the little dog has to bring a flashlight and (ideally) a good pair of running shoes. This is not something one wants to deal with at three in the morning, but that's what you get when you're raising a career runaway. As part of a coping mechanism for housing a delinquent, I indulged on a pint of peanut butter chocolate ice cream.

It's been unseasonably warm around these parts--even though there was snow on the ground at the beginning of the month--so thankfully I've been able to get away with stepping outside without bundling up like Shackleton. I've been getting away with wearing slippers outside, although if Chloe does make a break for it I will not be a happy camper. This is what is known as a "calculated risk."

Chloe has also gotten into the habit of not exactly eating her dinner. Or breakfast, for that matter. This isn't a case of her being sick; this is her way of making some statement that I'm sure is something like "I am protesting the conditions of my crate" but actually comes out as "I am not hungry." As any dog owner knows, that latter statement is an outright lie.

Last night was not any different. Dexter happily ate his bowl of food within seconds, while Chloe refused. Since SO HELP YOU if you let one dog out and leave the other in, this meant that poor Dexter couldn't play. Chloe, stubborn as ever, refused to eat all night long until we retired upstairs, and then, when it was clear we were not accommodating her peculiar digestive habits, licked the bowl clean. Because of this, she was let out much, much later than normal.

This is the point in the story when I should say something along the lines of, "If you had told me five years ago I would be standing outside on my porch in my slippers in November eating chocolate peanut butter ice cream while watching my dog poop while I shine a flashlight on her," there is a decent change I would have told you that you were crazy. But I won't say that.

No comments:

Post a Comment